Hangin’ Tough

I was walking home a few weeks ago, crossing at an intersection when some young tough in his SUV drove partway through that same, right at me. He stopped before he hit me, which all things considered I was pretty pleased about, but I still gave him a look as he went by – the People’s Eyebrow, if you would – and he stopped his car.

Then he rolled down the passenger window and and asked me, with traditional opening salvo 1A of the belligerent fratboy, if I had a problem. I said that walking around around when people don’t watch where they’re driving was my problem right then, so he (likewise in the traditional manner of the belligerent fratboy when faced with people who don’t just fold over) launched into a couple of aggressively flubbery excuses for his increasingly boorish behaviour.

And then, from the passenger seat, up pops one of the tiniest dogs I have ever seen. It had bells on its ankles; it was wearing a sweater. So I stopped talking to the guy and started talking to the dog. Hello, tiny dog! Whereupon our guy got a little red in the face and sped off.

There are many lessons here, but there is one in particular that I’d like to mention. Gentlemen, there are times in life when you’ve got to put on that hard front, to be sure! But if your wingman is a chihuahua, it is very difficult to convincingly sell the product.